


cane & cashmere

by reaperangelique



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Caning, Discipline, F/M, Femdom, In a manner of speaking, Inexplicable multiple Austrias, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Nyotalia, Polyamory, Romantic ass beating, Rulering..., Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3638961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set in no particular universe, prussia has an interesting relationship with a hardass master and a sultry mistress, and he'd like to see them try to outdo each other. fun is had by all. porn without plot, but with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cane & cashmere

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on dreamwidth. dedicated to assby for reasons i can't remember. contains human names for differentiation (fem!austria = lieselotte). it might look like moderately dedicated bdsm, but i imagine their approach to it is more along the lines of stamp collecting.

She is always more romantic than Roderich when she takes him. More soft and wanting as she takes what she needs from him, until he almost feels like he's doing _her_ a favour, playing her handsome, well-hung gallant, freely giving her declarations of his ardour for her and what her hands are doing down there-

Before she begins, she's slipping into his arms (even when they're chained above his head), craving kisses and loving words, pressing her silk slip to his bare chest. Roderich never strips to his underwear, either. Strips is the wrong word; she dresses in her lingerie as meticulously as her office clothes or her opera gown. Even restrained as he often is- often begs to be, with those wandering hands, and it's a wonder his smart mouth doesn't get gagged- he's eager, chains clinking or rope straining as he tastes her deeply and rolls his hips to feel the lace of her panties brush his abdomen, to get a thigh between hers and show her what she's missing.

Lieselotte makes no pretense about enjoying herself, her hands lingering at his restraints as if she would like to release him and take her chances with the wolf unchained, but then they slip away to thrust down his pants and she watches the faces he makes with relish, close enough that he can see the way he's smeared her lipstick. She'll smear it all over him before the afternoon is through, coat the welts she raises with it, and the thought- just the thought- makes him consider her the superior choice of handler.

Roderich is a disappointing substitute when his turn rolls around. Smartly dressed- impeccably, beautifully tailored, and it makes Gilbert feel his disarrayed suit rather sharply, but he'll never be allowed to outdress Roderich- and already looking bored before he's even begun. He fiddles with his cufflinks and polishes his glasses, metres away from his captive and making disinterested conversation- _what have you done this time, Preußen? What shall I do to you today?-_ and Gilbert makes a show of fussing with his handcuffs in mockery. The noise evidently bothers the master of the house, and he gets an unromantic lash of the switch against his thigh, his chin forced up so he can grin directly into Roderich's face. Disappointing is perhaps not the word, but he does wish the man would embrace lipstick and lingerie. It would make it terribly funny.

He gets another lash for pointing this out. It will be a long evening.

Lieselotte likes him standing or lying beneath her sinful hips, but Roderich always wants him on all fours or down on his knees, and he tires of the ache after a while. It's a good ache, in his jaw and his scalp and his back, but he craves his mistress' gentleness- even when she slaps him, even when she's rough with his manhood, and you know, thinking about it, perhaps she's not so gentle after all-

And Roderich is gentle, too, on a good day. When he's been pacified by Brahms and an exquisite Kirschtorte and a distinct lack of paperwork, and he smiles while he greets Gilbert and ties him to the bed, asks him how he is. His kisses are still perfunctory, but Gilbert doesn't care (he prefers that they can speak to each other, that way he can tear Roderich's good mood to shreds and give him another outlet for his frustrations). And when he spreads his legs- doesn't have much choice, actually, with the ankle ties- he takes back the disappointing comment, he utterly, thoroughly retracts it, because Lieselotte has yet to discover strap-ons.

And he's fine with that, by the way. Gilbert is a man set in his ways. He's no scholar, but some simplistic division of the genders is enough for his tastes, they can both deal him pain and pleasure as they see fit, he just wants those soft, warm thighs to wrap around him as he loves her, those nails to leave fiery lines down his back. He wants her to pull on his collar and beg for him to use his mouth now and then, where Roderich would only ever order him to his knees. And yet- and yet- the gentleman has never been above lying back and thinking of Prussia, has he? There are differences, many of them, but the finer points slip from his grasp when there are equally talented fingers on him, equally cruel canes.

He remembers mostly afterwards, when Lieselotte is lovely and breathless and unapologetic in his arms, when she's smiling and entwining herself with him like she needs him, like he's delighted her, and he basks in it, hungry for her love. And Roderich may be warm and sated next to him, but he's still being difficult, damn him, still making prissy little remarks on Gilbert's conduct like a judge at a dog show, for Christ's sake, and it's funny, beneath the ensuing arguments. It's comforting. And they kiss, sometimes. Breaking away like little boys embarrassed and fearing some playground disease.

What surprises him is that they don't think they're similar at all. Oh, they get along like a house on fire, and they'd both be in there to the end, fiddling, most likely. They could be twins- _aren't_ they twins, essentially?- in every gesture, in every word there's a likeness. And yet (and yet) Lieselotte is a lady through and through. The concept of 'gentleman' has always been distant to Gilbert, but ladies sit on a special pedestal (so he can see up their skirts, one imagines).

For example, Madame thinks that Roderich leaves his prey too sore all over, and therefore useless afterwards. She values precision, and a body in working order to please her throughout the night. This Gilbert heartily agrees with, when she murmurs it in his ear, and he complains of bruised knees and backache for her to kiss away (not, of course, that she will be easing up on him tonight; she merely criticises, nothing more). The young master, meanwhile, opines that Gilbert is altogether too forward by the time he reaches him. Too much indulgence makes him forget his place, and so he spends some time setting that right, and it becomes a vicious cycle of sharp correction and silken reassurance. Stick and carrot. Cane and cashmere. It's not a bad arrangement. He has only one complaint, and that is that they are all talk, no action; they never take him together, never act on their cheap criticisms. If it were him- and believe him, he's no true submissive, they've both tasted his rough and unlettered brand of conquest, her on her back with both her wrists pinned in one hand and her pretty petticoats yanked up, him against the wall with his ridiculous cravat acting as his leash; he just happens to _prefer_ being owned, thank you- but if it were him, he would put his money where his mouth is.  
He makes the mistake of saying so mid-punishment and gets backhanded for his trouble, but then Roderich thoughtfully strokes away the slight pain in Gilbert's jaw and says, "Why not?"

It's that casual acceptance that makes him think he's about to deeply regret his words, but he's never been so hard.

When he's thoroughly rested, days later, it happens. Lieselotte arrives in a neat, dark skirt that clings to every crest and valley of her form, and a blouse that he strains his eyes trying to see through. She's too shy to come in just an overcoat and a pair of stockings, with Roderich here. That's the first strike against this arrangement. The second is the time spent silently negotiating between how he likes to begin, and how she does, and for a while they stand around in their sharp business dress (even Gilbert starts out neatly) with a glass of wine as if they were at an office gathering making forced small talk. It's more painful than Lieselotte's harshest cane, the elegantly carved one with knots. He excuses himself to use the restroom and he takes the opportunity to touch himself, stroke himself to hardness thinking of how Lieselotte would normally do so herself, press her breasts against him, let him rut fruitlessly between her thighs- or even how Roderich would casually, almost callously strip him, inspect him...  
He returns when he can no longer hear the vague mumbling from the kitchen, erection straining proudly through his tight pants, and he knows they won't be able to resist punishing him for that. It seems they've come to some arrangement, dusk-blue eyes rimmed by elegant black frames and subtle eyeliner both fixed on his crotch. Excellent.

"Who wants it first, hah?"

Lieselotte does most of the undressing- of Gilbert and not herself, and he could weep for the satin bodice he knows has to be under there- her eyes and lips so close to his face, yet daintily averted as she undoes his buttons. He's already got his hands tied behind his back, because Roderich is a hardass, and he grins every time he catches Lieselotte's eyes, murmuring to her, trying to catch a kiss. He gets one, brief and fighting off a smile, before she leaves him to his fate, and Roderich forces him face down over the kitchen table. Interesting.

"I won't tolerate any of this soppish indulgence," Roderich tells her, and Gilbert rolls his eyes hard while Roderich can't see, shifting as his ankles are secured to the table legs. His cock must be a pretty sight, thrusting out between his legs, and the thought makes him flush to his ears as much as it makes him twitch. The little prince is speaking again, tersely as he grasps Gilbert's ass and inner thigh, checking him, or perhaps just exercising his rights. "Forgive me- but you ruin him with your tolerance. Does it not irritate you when he takes liberties?"

"I suspect," Lieselotte answers softly, and her voice is dry like lace dragging against cotton, "that it is you whom it irritates. It pleases me." It's a starkly honest answer, and Gilbert feels his cock throb as her sensible heels click towards him. Her hand rests on his head, and the gesture is almost protective. He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak, but it never stopped him anyway-

"You know what uptown girls want, Specs, limp aristocrat dick doesn't cut it- _ach!"_ Her hand is soothing through his hair as a vicious strike lands against his ass. He doesn't even know what Roderich is using, but he likes the thud of it, twisting his upper body around to try and see so his face is turned to the side, and he can watch what happens above him. The sting takes a long time to pass, it always does. _"Fuck!_ You know what I mean, right?!"

"I know what you mean," Roderich replies calmly, and he leans over Gilbert as if he isn't there, erection pressed right up against his ass, to kiss Lieselotte on the cheek. Worse than the cut of Roderich's instrument, _that_ has Gilbert gnawing at his lip. Strike three; they're so vain, they might stop paying attention to him. God bless her, though, she's loyal, her slender fingers on his face and his shoulders, and she steps in front of him, so he's twisting around again to stare directly at the dip her clingy skirt makes between her thighs. He wonders what kind of panties she's wearing, and he licks his lips, craving her taste; it's enough to get him through another harsh strike, and another.

Gilbert lets his head loll to one side, all his attention on the beautiful view, soaking up her petting like a cat. "He's pissy 'cause you enjoy fucking more than he does, makes him feel- _shit!_ I-Inadequate," he gasps out, conversationally, ignoring the incensed comments from behind him. Lieselotte laughs- a subtly voiced breath laced with amusement, that's her laugh- and her nails scratch through his hair, making him try in vain to press his cock against something, anything.

"What makes you think he will not enjoy you after this? Although, Roderich," she says, scratching behind Gilbert's ear in a way that makes him moan embarrassingly earnestly, and surveying the spread of scarlet where his tormentor has lashed into him. "You seem awfully unhappy. Think of your blood pressure. It isn't good for him, in any case."

"It is as good as he deserves," is the measured reply, slightly out of breath, but then- "Do you honestly think so?"

"I do. I would not dream of dictating your technique, but...I, myself, personally- I like to _touch..."_ It's not her hand, but it feels similar, the gloved one dragging up the inside of his thigh, passing smoothly over his tight balls and feeling the wetness at the tip of his cock very briefly, dragging it over his heaving abdominals. Roderich likes to touch, too, in his own way; Gilbert has never doubted it.

"You like to _be_ touched," replies Roderich idly, with such a certainty that Gilbert grinds his teeth down on his lip, nudges his head against Lieselotte's hand, as if to insist that he is still here and still requires her attention.

"So what the fuck if she does, little prince? Hah, you don't?! That's a good fucking joke, you'd love to be bent over like thi- ARGH! Grh- hh- stop fucking doing that!!" He would never shout and curse at Lieselotte for striking him, but then, she would never be so annoying about it. He can't quite tell if she's concerned, or enjoying seeing Roderich treat him roughly, but she strokes his face, fixated on the crack of- whatever it is against his ass.

"Quiet, pet," she says to him, looking down on him fondly and stroking his lip, and that is all it takes; for the rest of his strokes, he obeys her. Roderich marvels at it.

When he's released, he struggles not to fall into her arms, his legs no longer willing to support him, his arms still bound with his shirt tangled around them. Roderich has had his fun, his cock straining his pants and messing up the elegant pinstripe. But he's a picture of restraint, somehow, despite the slight sheen to his face, and he massages his forearm, tossing aside the- ruler, was it...the metre rule found in old-fashioned classrooms. Damn him. But Gilbert gets a kick out of the lack of natural strength, the obvious ache left behind. Serves him right.

It's Lieselotte's turn to demonstrate, and he can tell already she's not prepared to go all the way, as she usually does; damn him, damn him, sitting in that armchair in his black waistcoat and blue shirtsleeves, and not even touching himself, when Gilbert is craving to rut against the couch if he has to. He's going to watch, and probably interject; for some reason, Gilbert feels as though Lieselotte is more bothered by this than he is. The understanding that for her, this is a _private_ pleasure seeps slowly into his mind- not just hitting him around, that's not important- but her lovely demeanour, her passion. Damn Roderich to the depths.

When she lifts her skirt, she does so in such a way that she's still covered, shimmying out of her panties and letting them fall around her ankles, neatly stepping out of them. Invites him with a crook of her finger, and that's all he needs to fall forward on his knees at her feet, let her lean against the wall and guide him with a hand in his hair to where she wants his kiss. Playing with her, dragging his lips over her inner thighs, nuzzling her soft hair, before her tugging becomes an order and he obeys, breathing hard as he mouths her, tastes her. His tongue is firm and practiced- practiced at her behest- and when his face isn't buried between her legs, he makes eye contact with the master, sitting there with a leather-covered hand rubbing over his mouth like he's studying them. A scholar in front of an experiment, mildly interested, already picking out the flaws. Still not even palming himself, and Gilbert is insulted.

Lieselotte makes up for Roderich's deficiencies, though, as she always does; whispering, telling him he's a _good boy_ and hooking her leg over his shoulder until his reality is nothing but backseamed stockings and the scent of vanilla, a pleasant sharpness at his scalp and his shoulders as she holds him close. She slides a little way down the wall, and just the knowledge that she's losing control of herself makes him lean into her desperately, as eager as if she were actually touching him; when she climaxes, finally, her short, throaty moans ringing out indecently, he could swear he's about to himself.

There is silence in the aftermath, his mouth wet and his eyes wide, watching Lieselotte stumble and collapse away to the couch with only a shaky stroke through his hair. His erection is aching, brushing his softly toned stomach as he slumps, the dull throb of his blood in his prominent veins making his head thick with the sound. He's a picturesque mess, between milk and marble in colour and texture, shot through with red and blue- and the red is vivid, the scores on his shoulders, the thick lines across his ass, every patchy flush that stains his skin with arousal. He knows this, and even in his haze, he is posing for the sharp eyes he knows are on him from across the room. The hands to match are on him soon, footsteps soft but sure across the floor, and he keeps his eyes on the soft-breathing jumble of curves that is Lieselotte, half-fainted away on Roderich's elegant couch.

Next to Gilbert, Roderich is dark, bitterly so. Sweetly. The flush to his fair skin less jarring, and subtly dotted with beauty marks- _moles_ is good enough for him, thanks- resembling, in a shocking twist, chocolate drops. Gilbert can see one from the corner of his eye as Roderich's glove lands heavy on his bare shoulder, the blackness striking on him, and the young master's sleeve rolled up- threateningly- to display those tiny marks on his forearm. Gilbert _knows_ those marks, has followed them with his fingers and lips down Lieselotte's belly and up her spine, though he never thought Roderich deserved the consideration.

He changes his mind, on a whim, and his tongue catches the pulse at the inside of Roderich's elbow, eliciting one perfectly sharp eyebrow, perfectly raised, and one stroke of soft leather against his cheek. He half expects a slap, but it doesn't come; instead, he gets a nudge to his shoulder. _Go on,_ it says. _Do your job._ But his jaw is already aching and his hands are unavailable to fumble with buttons and zippers, so Roderich will have to make do with playful kisses through his pants, Gilbert's warm mouth dampening the fabric as he presses and nuzzles against Roderich's erection. He's shameless already, there is nothing either of his handlers can ask him to do that he is not willing to throw himself at (they are, at their very cores, prudes).

"...That is enough," Roderich says at length, and he has to force Gilbert's head back by his hair. The stare he receives is insolent, white canines showing as Gilbert's lip curls in amusement. Roderich is tolerant at the moment, but not that tolerant, and he's rough, in a measured way- bordering affectionate- as he pushes Gilbert in the direction of the couch. "Go on."

"Ahh, c'mon." He wouldn't normally protest, especially not with Lieselotte stirring from her orgasmic haze and sitting up with interest to receive him, but his hands are bound, and his knees are hurting, and he wiggles his fingers rather pitifully behind him. "Have mercy, princeling. You remember mercy?"

"I remember it being a mistake to give it you," comes the mild reply, but Gilbert grins a happy grin at Lieselotte as his wrists are untied, his shirt pulled away. Even a brief touch of gloved hands to soothe where the rope has chafed him, before they're pushing at his muscled back, and he obligingly crawls to his destination. _Crawls-_ the word does not seem appropriate; he saunters on all fours, striped ass swaying, back finely arched as he clambers up to his lady's lap- where Roderich almost expects him to curl up like a cat.

And she pets him like one, as if she doesn't consider it odd at all. "I do hope you two are going to be good," she says softly, and instinctively, they know what she wants, sharing a glance, a quirked eyebrow. Roderich removes his belt.

When he slips on to the couch behind Gilbert, his knees making depressions in the dark velvet as he gets comfortable, he is soon forced to interrupt his companions making eyes at each other- _forced,_ as if it isn't for his own amusement that he catches Gilbert's hands behind his back with his belt, letting the other man fall forward to rest his head on Lieselotte's belly. It only elicits a snort and a bit of wriggling, that vividly red ass pressing back against his crotch, and that's enough of that. He lets Gilbert go, in favour of folding his belt, tapping his ass lazily with it.

"Undress her. Be a gentleman." The command does nothing to move Gilbert, who merely turns his head a bit, as if to say, _really?_ There's a pause, subtly tense as a string being very slowly wound around fingers, where the three contemplate the fact that that command does, in actuality, somewhat affect Lieselotte, who has not given anyone leave to command her. It is here that the chain of command is cemented, and Roderich's authority is gently undermined; but because he is gracious, he overlooks it. And because she is equally gracious, Lieselotte lies back with a sigh, spreading her legs and wrapping them around Gilbert to rest her feet on Roderich's thighs.

"You may," she begins, and then, "please do." It seems she's comfortable now, for reasons known only to her, to be seen in her bare skin, her naked desire. Gilbert has a sudden flash back to her panties, left on the floor across the room, and he shoots up, turning his head to see what they looked like, before Roderich is tapping his ass impatiently again and that is beginning to sting, so he'll settle for her other undergarments. He wastes no time, though he spends some with relish, kissing her, nipping her ear, enjoying her hands dancing across his back while he unbuttons her, sometimes with his teeth. Behind him, he knows that Roderich is studiously keeping his ever-so-stoic eyes on his back, almost completely ignoring the glimpses of Lieselotte's skin as her clothes are removed, the lovely imagery of her legs shifting either side of Gilbert's waist, her beautiful eyes closing and her hair trailing as she tilts her head back for Gilbert's mouth at her throat. He knows, too, that Roderich is contemplating this entirely different brand of ownership, this non-aggressive dominance that supercedes his own. How she can be so soft, and so yielding, and yet so worshipped.

Gilbert rather suspects it's in the presentation, as he pulls down the straps and cups of a prettily patterned brassiere that reaches to her finely curved waist, taking a moment to admire the coffee and cream colours before he's running his tongue over her nipples. His cock is pressing against her supple, untoned midsection, leaving a wet trail, and his lips clamp down hungrily, lavishing attention on her breasts to stem the tide of his frustration. He won't be allowed to really make her moan until he's satisfied...one or other of their requirements. Hands on his hips remind him so, and he grudgingly pulls himself up to his knees again, taking comfort in the view he has of his work complete before him. Lieselotte splayed out with her head against some cushions, like a lovely doll beneath him, albeit one too risqué for general consumption. Her bodice and stockings left on for decorative purposes, because she is entirely too alluring when she looks like someone has half-undressed her, left her disheveled and preferably ravished. She takes the natural beauty in Roderich's colouring and makes the very best of it, long hair curling over her shoulders and breasts, lips a deep pink to match other parts of her body; and at that thought Gilbert's eye follows a scattered constellation of beauty marks- the proper term, in her case- from one sweetly budding nipple, down to her navel, to disappear into the curiously elegant undergrowth between her legs.

"Preußen," says Roderich, resting his chin on Gilbert's shoulder, apparently to take in the view himself, and his voice is rather thick. His hands are groping, his breath coming harder than usual against Gilbert's neck as he grabs his ass roughly, drags his hips back so he can grind his own against him. There's a satisfaction in knowing he's not the only one with a painfully pressing hard on, and he gladly presses back to Roderich's chest, liking the fine fabric of that suit against his bare back. Those leather gloves all over his skin, rough on his nipples, smooth down his abdomen, ignoring his cock, unfortunately. He turns his head, and he's met with a sudden kiss, Roderich's glasses cutting into his temple, and it's annoying enough to make him reach back and grab them, throw them away carelessly. Thrusting his fingers into Roderich's hair before he can protest or worse, inflict some kind of creative pain on him, dragging him into a deep kiss that, rather than a battle, is a dance, a mutual hunger.

It is _good,_ by some definition, and entertaining; the princess reclines with her hand between her legs, another squeezing her breast, her feet still massaging Roderich's hips and edging close to his cock, until he finally notices and grabs them. He breaks from Gilbert with an audible gasp, and he shakes his head at Lieselotte as if amused, suddenly tugging her feet, dragging her down closer to them in a sharp movement that catches her off-guard. He's incredibly bold, and Gilbert knows he only got away with that because she is bound to be overly forgiving to someone who looks and acts like herself, the vain little creature. But the new position brings her tantalisingly close to him, close enough to call to him with her form, making him want to fall on all fours over her and kiss her breathless, drag her ample hips to his and love her fiercely. There is a difference between submissive and _docile._

"Careful," Lieselotte breathes, leaving her pillows behind and lying flat, her toes reaching skyward, hair mussed and curling wildly like near-black ribbons, and she's starkly pale against the dark couch, her hands behind her head as though she's relaxing, as though she doesn't have her legs open in invitation. An invitation Gilbert feels he can't accept until His Highness gives him the go-ahead. "I am waiting. Roderich..."

Hearing her sigh Roderich's name has Gilbert biting down on his lip, a sudden, scowling impulse to block the view between them rising for a fleeting second, but he masters it, holds himself stiff and breathes on a beat until finally, Roderich's hands release him. Slipping from his hips, groping his ass one more time and then pushing his lower back, an inexorable touch that has Gilbert dutifully falling forward to let his forearms catch him. Covering Lieselotte, finally, assured now that he is all she can see, mollified. Her hips are raised already for him, her legs coming back almost to her chest, the pink cleft between them a delectable sight, and he shuffles back to plant a kiss there. Back into a space, he realises, created by the absence of Roderich, who has slipped away- staggered, perhaps- to do whatever it is that he finds more pressing than joining in. At the moment- if he's being completely frank- Gilbert really doesn't give a fuck.

"Made yourself all pretty, hah?" He's daring now that they're alone, his voice low as he nips her thighs, parts her lips with his fingers and admires the glisten of her arousal. Tongue and lips travelling up the seams of her stockings, teeth marking her through them, as he rubs her carelessly, indelicate palming for her delicate area. It's how she likes it, some sweetly twisted, frilly fantasy of a knight who lives to serve and loves to rough her up. Within reason, or it gets the hose again- "Haa...what do you want, Fräulein? Tell me?"

She smiles in a way that makes her rounded, pouting lips sharpen and thin at the corners. "I want _you,"_ she begins, legs over his shoulders, hands on his biceps, "to close your mouth and _be a gentleman."_

Damn. Not a day for _please, make love to me, take me, now!_ but he'll take it, obediently doing his duty, grabbing her ass and delighting in the way his fingers sink into her flesh while he's burying himself inside her. All at once, he realises how much he's been suppressing his raging need and after a ragged moment, he's thrusting hard, precise and measured, but rapid, the feeling of her smooth and hot around him intoxicating him until he can think of nothing else. It's too much stimulation for him, too quickly, but he struggles to stop, holding her down and leaning right over her to ram his hips against her ass until her legs and breasts are bouncing, her body unable to keep up with his. Her soft groans- deep moans- no, high, fluting cries sound almost shocked, her fingers catching in her mouth, her head softly bumping against her pillows as he shifts her with his driving thrusts. It's only when she begins to whimper his name, in a string of nonsensical praises and admonishments- _too hard, I can't, Preußen, you're too much, too fast, Gilbert, harder, more, stop, stop, don't stop- !_ that he pulls himself back, pauses. His chest heaving with breathlessness he can't seem to shake, filling his lungs with air and his hands with her as he gently lowers her legs, moves carefully- but not too carefully- in her and drops down to be close to her. Loving her whines as he gives her shallow thrusts, not sure if she's mad at him for slowing down or if he's made her too sensitive, but he's consumed by her, laughing at her with his lips around her nipple and delighting in her ticklish squirms.

Gilbert has forgotten his place, as she would say- as _he_ would say, certainly, and _mean_ it- and so it's only fitting that he forgets where he is, whose _couch_ he is defiling. And only fitting, in Roderich's view, that he makes himself so unwitting a target, wrapped up in his lady love (the thought makes him snort) and exposed, so exposed, white flesh angrily marked with red moving, tempting. Roderich watches from the doorway, leaning on the frame with a masterful disregard for the throb of his erection, a bottle of something discreet being rolled around between his lithe fingers. He concedes to his needs, however, fingers trailing the seam at the front of his pants before they flick buttons open casually, expose black silk- because Lieselotte is not the only one with fine tastes. The urgent hardness thrills him, a masochistic pleasure in control and non-response, saving himself, savouring it. Taking visual pleasure in what he sees, two lovers ignorant to his presence, yet performing for his pleasure, in a sense. Lieselotte's arms arcing back to grasp the arm of the couch, seeing her taut and tense to receive Gilbert roughly between her ample thighs, his strong fingers clawing into her beautiful flesh, and Roderich sees the appeal of playing damsel- for her, anyway. For him, that tight, unyielding leash he has around Gilbert's neck is hard to give up, that powerful body at his mercy too inebriating an experience- but those thoughts are making it troublesome to stay still, and he thinks it's time to exercise his _droit du seigneur,_ shall we say-

But he won't interrupt Lieselotte. Perish the thought. She looks to be enjoying herself very much, and _he_ enjoys the sight, so when he finally climbs to his knees on the couch again behind Gilbert, he merely touches one of her hovering, jostling feet in an affectionate gesture, getting himself settled with only a rustle of fabric. It catches her attention, Gilbert's face buried in her neck allowing her to see Roderich taking his place, and she smiles, her hand threading through her gallant's hair to subtly keep him pressed there. It's slightly incredible to Roderich to see the same quick realisation and clever, sensual manipulation in her features that he, rather immodestly, prescribes to himself, and he admires the way her legs wrap around Gilbert's hips, pull him close, make his movements slow and his ass a target.

A courteous bow of his head for her, and a brief smile, before he's baring himself, gloved hands briefly wrapping around his cock, squeezing, then fluttering away. It won't do to exhaust himself. But he must be methodical, and his fingers tug his gloves perfectly into place, adjust his rolled sleeves, before he's wetting them with lubricant (which, he might add, got misplaced last time and he spent far too long looking for, and somehow he blames Gilbert for it). He's not indulgent with himself, not at the moment, the anticipation enough to keep him focused as he spreads that slickness evenly over his hardness with brief strokes. Watching Gilbert _make love-_ another snort- to a beautiful woman, and the thought and sight is so out of place, far from his experience- made very _curious_ by the woman in question and the mark below her lip, the unruly curl in her hair- and he's very nearly distracted, his hand tightening as if in punishment before he releases himself.

Lieselotte is watching as he presses close to Gilbert, grabs him by the hip, and she turns her head to muffle his noise of surprise with her lips. Roderich can see the glance between them, the grudging interest from Gilbert and the reassuring smile she gives in answer, and those hips pause in their movements, muscular thighs subtly spreading, positioning better for the intrusion. The willingness, in the middle of all this, removes the threadbare restraints on Roderich's behaviour and he quite suddenly probes Gilbert with dripping fingers, pulling on one cheek with his leather-clad thumb to spread him. Two at once, pausing at the automatic resistance, then smoothly thrusting when Gilbert relaxes, his hips sinking in response- and that's interesting; sheathing him a little deeper in Lieselotte's warm embrace, her legs coming up to _tighten_ her. There's a sudden tenseness to his shoulders, and Lieselotte- between her gasps- massages them; she knows, as well as Roderich does, that Gilbert is beginning to wonder just how well he can handle them both at once.

She's adept at reading him, and she studies him carefully, the expressions dancing skittishly over his features holding her attention even with the distracting movements inside her as Roderich prepares him. She cups his face, drawing his eyes to her and sliding down a bit to be directly beneath him, able to look him in the eye- and ah, he's tensing again, an unknown number of Roderich's fingers curling inside him, a hand on his ass making those stripes sing. _Twitching,_ inside her, shifting, and that full, barely-moving feeling has her breathing hard, feeling sweat streak her thighs. There's a look of concentration on Gilbert's face, his eyes on Lieselotte's collar bone and the delicate silver cross sitting on it. His hair is mussed, her lipstick on his face, his mouth falling open one moment as slick fingers withdraw- then, wolfish white teeth clench when they thrust back in.

Roderich is silent, and Gilbert only pants; Lieselotte takes it upon herself to be loud, claiming that right between two reticent men, rolling her hips up and sighing prettily. Urging motion and action, ready now to be _moved,_ whether it's on their schedules or not. There's a jump from Gilbert that she delights in, giving him a little _oh!_ and stroking back his hair.

"Am I to be left waiting, until it is convenient to you?" She's amused, and it isn't clear who she's addressing, but Gilbert bows his head to kiss her cheek, and Roderich grips both of Gilbert's hips hard, his attentive preparations over (and perhaps he was only so attentive to watch him squirm). Lieselotte cannot see, but she can _sense_ Roderich finally pressing himself to Gilbert, the tip of his cock surely stretching him in an irksome way, from the way his pale back is arching, his knees are spreading and pushing hers apart with them. He pants into her neck, and she wraps herself around him, stroking down his spine until he shivers. Roderich twists his lower lip between his teeth as his back straightens and hips slowly press onwards, his posture beautiful to her, still impeccable in those clothes; but he's painfully cautious, deliberate, to enter that slick and suffocating tightness-

"Fuck! Get on with it, you bastard," comes the growl from against her throat, Gilbert's hands clenching the pillows behind Lieselotte's head, and she laughs- all the harder for Roderich's impatiently clucking tongue, the spell of silence broken, his hand slapping Gilbert's ass for impertinence, and his cock finally thrusting to the hilt inside him. The trembling moan Gilbert lets loose in her ear has her throwing her head back, her stockinged feet struggling for purchase against his back and slipping to nudge and kick Roderich, who deftly redirects them, alarmingly composed for being balls-deep inside a man.

"Are you satisfied?" he asks, drawing back and thrusting sharply, and once again the intended recipient is not clear. They are a tangled mess like this, a pretty and inelegant arrangement. Gilbert and Lieselotte almost flat on the couch, clasped together, but for their lower bodies- his, held up in place by Roderich's unrelenting grip, hers clinging and proving the strength of her thighs, though it is becoming difficult to keep up, and she wonders if either of them have the presence of mind to take care of her- but of course Roderich does, the dear thing. Leaning down and pushing Gilbert's hips down under him, to let her rest against the couch and let his lower back take the strain instead (and by God, will he be a tyrant in the morning because of it). Gilbert barely moves, and Lieselotte suspects he cannot make his mind up.

So Roderich moves him, and Lieselotte has never appreciated his forcefulness in quite this way before. Measured, timely thrusts, hard enough to shake Gilbert's flesh, rattle his bones, get him groaning and stifling higher-pitched noises. The movement drives his hips down and against Lieselotte's, and she merely raises her legs to get a better angle, content to have him deep inside and shifting shallowly, stretching her, rubbing parts of her that promise a breathtaking orgasm. As Roderich grows needier, more aggressive, he rests a hand on Gilbert's back, and of all things that drives him to thrust his ass back against against the rough penetration. She can feel them competing, almost, one pushing back as the other forces him forward, and she'd laugh at the posturing, if between them they weren't fucking her rather hard. She's surprised by it, by the lack of control she's used to from both of them individually, and she whimpers as it stirs her sensitive places with little regard for gentleness.

Once again it falls on Roderich to change things and he rather likes the control. Beneath him, he realises, both his partners are at his mercy, and the thought makes him twitch inside Gilbert; but he is kind, and so he heaves Gilbert up by his hips, straightening himself. Deciding to let him- _let_ him, not force him, why would you think that- make his own pace, continue as he was...simply with an extra consideration in the back of his mind. And Gilbert, being himself, does not catch on at once, adjusting himself in the reprieve, kissing Lieselotte's forehead and waiting for Roderich's movement- but there is nothing, and he looks back over his shoulder.

"Specs- "

"Get _on_ with it, Preußen. The lady is waiting." The remark is almost dry, a stark contrast to the raggedness of the other two, and it provokes eyerolling from Gilbert. Rolling shoulders, too, and his neck, accepting defeat, preparing himself. Reaching for a pillow to stuff beneath Lieselotte- thank God- and grabbing her hips again, the look on his face disheveled, distracted and disbelieving, but incredibly amused.

"Yes, _sir!"_

Every breath he draws shudders through his chest, but as he begins to thrust, he shows a magnificent kind of pride, an unabashed enjoyment of the way he has to impale himself on Roderich's cock with every movement. A rock and a soft place, truly, they are, and he grins through his torment, letting out soft curses, biting his lip in a way that Lieselotte finds herself mimicking. The chain around his neck dangling over her, the pleasant sight of Roderich's arms wrapping around Gilbert's waist as he gives him short, shallow thrusts in encouragement, even the sight of her own toes pointing like a ballerina's with every thrust; the experience is one of warm breath and heavy silence, creaking couch and aching muscles, and all of it excites her, drives her close to breaking beyond that numbness to an explosive finish.

She is not quiet, towards the end, her nails raking Gilbert's skin to a strawberry hue, her hips twisting under him, legs spreading to take him as she throws her head back and moans her desires, crying encouragement. He is almost worse, struggling by now to handle both her wonderful tightness and the persistent pressing fullness that he knows will undo him, if it only increases pace in the slightest. Roderich holding back resembles a tiger pacing the open cage before it leaps out. And he knows it's coming, and so is he, so he allows it, invites it; bends over Lieselotte to taste her tongue and hope her orgasm will be swift, spreading for Roderich to take him as he will. He is not disappointed. Finally that carefully built dam of restraint falls apart- is cast aside, in fact- and rough hands squeeze his hips, Roderich rocking hard against him and tormenting him with deep thrusts, hitting white-hot against the spot that drives him wild, and though no one can tell in the frenzied fog of their own pleasure, Roderich is as far gone as either of them. Making up for all that caution in abundance, his hips making a muffled slapping sound against Gilbert's ass and making Lieselotte, poor damsel as she loves to be, _bounce_ beneath them both.

It's a race to finish, Lieselotte recklessly vocal and arching her back, a thousand words of pleading spilling over, but she's not quite there, and she gets to enjoy Gilbert helpless and whimpering above her for a beautiful fleeting minute as he approaches the edge. She's gone before he is, though, a drawn out moan that rises in pitch marking her climax, strangely soft compared to her wildness before; she trembles with warmth, her head turning to half-bury her face in her pillow while she enjoys exhausting aftershocks, and the continued pressure of Gilbert inside her. She's still coming when Roderich yanks him back by his arms, pulls him right out of her, and she watches in a daze with spasming hips while he fucks him hard, bites his neck and lets out one stifled, satisfied groan.

She's not sure when Roderich finishes, but Gilbert is laid bare in front of her, Roderich's black glove coaxing him to splash it with his come- and the couch- and her thighs- and between all the sweat and wetness between her legs, it hardly seems to matter. She watches him, boneless in his afterglow, Roderich gently rocking against him until finally he's taken his fill, and he slips out. Considerate even now, thoughtfully lowering Gilbert down on his front to rest, and Lieselotte shifts aside to share the couch with him, writhe her way into his arms and tangle their legs, single-minded in her pursuit of tired comfort. She feels hands, bare hands now, rub her back, cup her ass and run down her legs, pull off her stockings, come back up to dexterously flick open the clasps of her bra. She herself has wonderful hands, but she would never know how wonderful without experiencing Roderich's. On her feet, now, ticklish at first, but she stills the urge to kick, accepting the massage without looking. He is sitting neatly at the other end of the couch, she knows, mussed but proper enough to answer the front door still. She could do it that way, too, she muses. But on the whole, she'd prefer to be where she is, nude and cosy, held like something precious.

Gilbert is asleep, and has no opinion. He never did have the self-control to choose just _one_ treat.


End file.
